


Bring Me Java, Bring Me Joy

by synchronysymphony



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee Shops, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killua is in love with the cute boy at the coffee shop. Now, if only he could get the courage to talk to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me Java, Bring Me Joy

**Author's Note:**

> For my sister ♥

The cute barista is smiling.

Granted, he’s hardly ever _not_ smiling, so this shouldn’t be a remarkable occurrence. But it is. Killua’s been watching him for a couple minutes now, not in a creepy way (hopefully), just admiring how _shiny_ he looks when the light catches his eye, just like–

“Do you mind? You’re holding up the line, asshole.”

Killua comes back to himself with a start. The person behind him in line is poking him with an overly-long fingernail, and frowning so hard he thinks their obviously drawn on eyebrows might melt off. It’s not like they don’t have good reason to, but Killua turns and glares at them anyway.

“Asshole yourself.”

He struts up to the counter before anyone can comment on his sadly less-than-stellar comeback. There are more important things to think about today, such as, oh maybe~ the beautiful brown-eyed boy at the counter in front of him.

“Hi,” he says. As always, his voice sends a stab of not-quite-pain through Killua’s chest. “What can I get you?”

“Double latte with skim, please.”

Killua wants to say something else, but he doesn’t quite have the courage. He _never_ has the courage. It’s sort of a routine. He gets up, walks to campus, and strolls into the coffee shop at 8:11 sharp. Then, he stares at the cute barista, orders his drink, tries to say something else, fails, and leaves. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s supposed to be cool and suave, the ultimate charmer. But these days, it’s all he can do to order a coffee without tripping all over his own words.

And then,

“You’re hot?”

 _What?!_ Killua tries to shut his mouth, which has dropped open in a remarkably unattractive way.

“Ex-excuse me?”

The cute barista smiles (can smiling be a talent?) and holds up the cup. “Hot? Or iced?”

Oh. Killua tries not to be disappointed.

“Hot, please.”

“You got it.”

Somehow, Killua manages to pay for his drink and pick it up at the bar without embarrassing himself further. He’s not sure what it is that makes him act like this. Maybe it has something to do with the ambience of the place? Or maybe it’s a physiological response to the coffee? It’s interesting. He’ll have to look it up later.

When he leaves the coffee shop, the cute barista smiles and waves in his direction. He’s too embarrassed to wave back, but he does blush a lot, so his attempts at coolness are probably wasted. Well, whatever. He’s too busy to think about boys anyway.

—

Half an hour later, Killua has found Kurapika in the TA office, and is pouring out all his woes.

“And he’s just so cute,” he whines, uncomfortably aware that Kurapika is trying not to laugh. “It’s not fair! How can his eyes be such a perfect shade of brown? They look like velvet. Or coffee beans. That makes sense. Kurapika, do you think they hired him because his eyes look like coffee beans?”

“I think that’s rather unlikely.”

“And his hair, holy crap Kurapika, you have to see his hair. I thought gel was tacky, but he makes it _work_. He looks like a male model or something.”

“Hmm.”

“But the most important thing is his smile. His fucking smile! I can’t deal with this. He looks like he’s made of sunshine. I feel like I need to put on aloe after seeing him, because he’s just so fucking bright and brilliant and bright and– what’s another word for bright?”

“Radiant?”

“Yeah. He looks like a stained glass window or something. My heart can’t take it.”

“Aww.” Kurapika pats him on the shoulder. “You should talk to him tomorrow.”

Killua glares at him, but he looks sadly unfazed. Sometimes, he’s a terrible friend.

“I’ve been trying to do that for a month now. Or weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah. Try harder.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“One-hundred-ten percent!”

Killua groans loudly and dramatically. Some of the other TAs turn and stare daggers at him, but he’s too entrenched in woe to care. Let them be annoyed. At least they don’t have to deal with the follies of a hopeless love.

—

The next day, the cute barista is wearing a tank top under his apron. His biceps look like they’ve been sculpted out of very brown marble and polished to perfection with a velvet cloth and the essence of all that is right and pure in the world. Killua truly doesn’t know which way is up anymore.

—

Friday night, Killua goes to dinner at Kurapika’s apartment, partially to meet his new boyfriend, and partially to help him get wasted, because the poor thing has been subsisting on white zinfandel and wine coolers for a couple weeks now, and Killua would be a terrible friend if he didn’t rectify that mistake.

So, he shows up bright and early at 9PM (honestly way too early for a party, but apparently Kurapika’s new boyfriend is a Morning Person– how disgusting) bearing two bottles of vodka, a pack of beer, and a frankly scandalous amount of cheap whiskey. Kurapika can laugh all he wants; Fireball tastes amazing, and he’s never going to stop buying it. 

“The party’s here,” he calls, pushing open the door and walking in, only to turn right around and leave again when he sees Kurapika and the new boyfriend going at it on the couch. Honestly, there are some things he never wants to see, and Kurapika’s junk is one of them.

Ten minutes later (he wants to give them time to finish), he knocks loudly on the door and invites himself inside. They’re both fully clothed now, fortunately, and are sitting side by side on the couch, wearing matching shamefaced expressions. How cute.

“Sorry about that,” says Kurapika. “I didn’t think you’d be on time.”

Oh, so this is _his_ fault now? Killua flips him off. “Just because I sometimes show up at a fashionable hour– ”

“Well, at least _something_ about you is fashionable.”

Them’s fighting words. Killua sets down his stash of liquid happiness (gently– he’s not about to waste it) and flings himself at the couch to catch Kurapika in a headlock.

“You know what, you rude little snot?”

“Get off me, asshole.”

Kurapika shoves him, and he lands (unfortunately) in the new boyfriend’s lap.

“Oh, hi,” says the new boyfriend. Kurapika cracks up laughing.

“You guys are so close already!”

“Shut up.” With a grunt, Killua lifts himself back onto the floor, where he can preserve his dignity. “Hi,” he says, determined to start anew, now that the worst has passed. “My name’s Killua. I had Kurapika’s o-chem discussion last year.”

The new boyfriend peers at him with much interest. “Ah, you’re the one who’s in love with the boy at the coffee shop, aren’t you?”

Honestly, Killua is going to kill Kurapika someday. He looks at the traitor, who’s grinning at him with a markedly unrepentant air. 

“You told him?”

Kurapika shrugs. “It’s cute.”

“It is cute,” agrees the new boyfriend. “I wish you guys all the happiness in the world.”

“I don’t even know his name!”

“So? I didn’t know Kurapika’s name until our first date.”

“What?” Killua hadn’t known this. “Kurapika, you went out with a stranger? That’s so unsafe.”

“It’s okay,” says Kurapika blithely. “I had my knife with me. If Leorio had turned out to be a creep, I would have cut him.”

The new boyfriend (Leorio?) raises his eyebrows. “You were going to cut me?”

“Only if you had turned out to be a creep.”

“Okay, I should not be turned on by that.”

“Ew,” interrupts Killua. “No, you shouldn’t.”

Kurapika and Leorio grin at him. “Too much information?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.” Leorio folds his hands under his chin, suddenly all seriousness. He looks like some kind of cheap imitation of a businessman. Someone should probably tell him that tacky suits are _not_ in anymore. “Let’s talk about the important issue here,” he says. Killua suddenly feels apprehensive, and he doesn’t even know why.

“What issue?”

“Your love life.”

Killua groans. _That’s_ why. “I’m telling you, I don’t even have a love life!”

“Then that really is an issue.”

“Oh my god.”

Killua is really not drunk enough for this. He reaches for his bag of alcohol and digs around until he finds the bottle of Fireball. Kurapika doesn’t even bother to offer him a glass; he knows by now that this would just be a waste of breath. 

“Okay, bottoms up!”

Killua breaks the seal and takes a pull straight from the bottle. It burns just right going down. Maybe this night will be a good one after all.

—

Three-quarters of a bag of alcohol later, Killua is lying on the floor next to the couch, loopily trying to count the patterns in the ceiling. It’s difficult, because they seem to be changing each time he blinks. 

“Hey, Kurapika,” he says.

Kurapika makes a weird mumbling sound and shifts so his head is tilted off the couch. “What?”

“Do you believe in aliens?”

“Like space aliens?”

“No,” breaks in Leorio. “That’s not the question. The quesh- the question is whether th’ aliens believe in _you_.”

“B’lieve in me?”

Killua wants someone to believe in him. He feels like if he just had that bit of faith, he could do so much. Maybe he could conquer the world. Or maybe, he could work up the courage to talk to the cute barista in the coffee shop. That would be amazing. He wonders if aliens can feel love. Probably. They have to feel something, even if they’re so far away in space.

“I want to believe in love,” he says.

“Oh yeah!” Leorio must change his position, because Kurapika squawks, and his head disappears from Killua’s view. 

“Don’t move! It’s too dizzy!”

“Sorry, babe.” Leorio kisses him noisily, then shifts so his head is the one hanging off the couch. “Hey, hey. Killua.”

“What?”

“You should be love– I mean. You should b’lieve in love.”

“I do. It just doesn’t believe in me. Like aliens.”

“No, no.” Leorio lifts an unsteady hand and pokes him in the nose. “We believe. So you should introduce yourself to the coffee boy. I’ll make a bet with you.”

“Bet? What bet?”

“Okay.” Leorio thinks for awhile with his eyes closed. Killua thinks he might have gone to sleep, so he tries to poke him, but Leorio just swats his hand away. “Shut up. Thinking.”

“Think harder!”

“Okay, I got it,” says Kurapika. “You have to introduce yourself to Coffee Boy on Monday. If you do, we’ll buy you that watermelon jacket you wanted. But if you don’t, you have to buy us dinner.”

Now _this_ is a compelling offer. Killua has had his eye on this particular jacket for months now, but it’s incredibly expensive, and he just can’t justify spending that much on a single piece of clothing. But if Leorio and Kurapika are willing to buy it for him, then talking to the cute boy in the coffee shop seems like a very small price indeed.

“Deal,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

“Shake on it,” mumbles Leorio. “Gotta shake, or it don’t count.”

“Then come down.”

Leorio and Kurapika roll themselves onto the floor. Kurapika manages to land fairly gracefully, but Leorio doesn’t stop himself in time, and goes rolling towards the door. Kurapika’s too busy laughing to help him, so Killua grabs him and pulls him back. 

“Shake.”

“Shake.”

They all shake hands. Killua is so pleased with this turn of events that he grabs blindly for the nearest bottle of alcohol, and raises it above his head.

“Drink on it.”

“Now you’re talkin’!”

They chug the whole bottle in a matter of minutes, and given that this is a joyous occasion, they decide that it’s important to quickly go on to the next. Killua isn’t sure what else happens that night, but by the time he passes out, he knows that his money has gone to a very good cause.

—

Monday morning, Killua has sworn eternal enmity against his drunk self. Why on earth did he think this would be a good idea? Here he is in the coffee shop, with the same sloppy-eyebrows-ugly-manicured person behind him, and there’s the cute barista looking even cuter (more _radiant_ ) than usual. His teeth are so white. Killua wonders if his dentist has to wear sunglasses.

“Hey, psst,” comes the annoying hiss from behind him. “Any day now, buddy.”

“Come off it,” Killua mutters, and with a jolt to his spine to pull himself to his full height, he steps up to the counter to order.

“Hi!” The cute barista grins at him, bright as bright can be. “Good morning, sir!”

“G-good morning, sir,” Killua stammers out. “Although, I would prefer Killua.”

“Killua?” The cute barista smiles even wider. “How awesome! I’m Gon, by the way!”

“Gon.” Killua rolls the sounds over in his mouth. It’s such a cute name. He wants to say it over and over. “Nice to meet you, Gon.”

Gon honest-to-god _winks_ at him before pulling out a coffee cup and brandishing it like some kind of magic wand that creates love spells and nothing else. “Your usual?”

“Ah.” Killua manages to nod. “Yes, please.”

He wants to say something else, like _can I have your number_ , or maybe _will you marry me and father my children_ , but the moment passes too quickly, and he has to go over to the bar to wait for his latte. Still, it’s not so bad, because he can watch Gon work while he waits. At one point, Gon looks over and grins at him, and he feels his heart melt into a mixture of rubber and gum. He thinks he’s about to fall through the floor.

When he leaves, Ugly Eyebrows glares at him and mumbles something about slow-ass punks who think they’re better than everyone else, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Ugly Eyebrows can eat it. He’s in love.

—

Killua’s new routine lasts for a week. He goes to the coffee shop, greets Gon by name, and leaves, blissfully happy. Most of the time, he even remembers to pick up his coffee. 

And then, he decides that this isn’t enough. He’s gotten this far; why should he hesitate now? So, the next Wednesday, he takes a little extra time doing his hair, and strolls into the coffee shop with a poise that he most definitely does not feel. Even Ugly Eyebrows seems a little impressed. Killua really needs to act like this all the time.

“Good morning, Gon,” he says, as soon as he gets to the register. “How are you today?”

“I’m great!” Gon smiles at him, and ah yes, there’s the sun. “I’m just getting ready for a performance, you know, so it’s a little busy. But I’m so excited!”

A performance? This is Killua’s chance. “What do you play?” he asks.

“Bass!” Gon mimics strumming a guitar, and it should be dorky, but somehow, it’s not. “My friends and I have a band. We’re playing tonight at the Whale Club; you should come!”

Killua’s having visions of Gon in a rocker tee with the sleeves cut off, shiny with sweat, vibrant and virile under the neon lights of the Whale Club stage. It’s a beautiful vision. Killua needs more.

“I would love to come,” he says. “If I give you my number, will you text me details?”

Gon holds out his arm, and the sharpie that he uses to mark the cups. “Write it here!”

Killua does. He’s so rattled that he can barely remember his own name, let alone his phone number, but somehow, he manages to get it all down. Gon smiles, less brilliant this time, but much more intimate.

“I’ll text you as soon as I can.”

“P-please,” stutters Killua. “Text. Me, I mean.”

To cover his embarrassment at lapsing into monosyllables (and rather elementary ones, at that), he reaches down to pull out his wallet. Gon holds up a hand.

“No, I got this. It’s on me this time.”

_It’s on him._

Killua really doesn’t want to read into things too much, but at this point, he thinks he’s justified in thinking that things are going well. He smiles through the blush painting his cheeks, trying to look as sophisticated as he can (it’s a lost endeavor, but he might as well hope).

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll buy you a drink tonight, then.”

Gon winks at him. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Killua honestly doesn’t know how he gets his coffee and makes it out of the shop. He feels like his blood is made of electricity. Is his hair standing on end? He doesn’t know, but he feels like it ought to be. This is it, this is what everyone means when they talk about love. This, he thinks, is the definition of happiness.

—

He revises his definition of happiness that night when Gon kisses him on the cheek and tells him he’s happy he came. Now he knows what love is, and it’s a spiky-haired bassist with eyes the color of coffee beans. Love is love is love, and it’s perfect.

He wears his new watermelon jacket that Saturday on his very first date with Gon.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, of course, by the adorable and hilarious song Taylor the Latte Boy. Also, the weird-eyebrows person can be whoever you want (I was thinking Hisoka, but honestly, it could be anyone).  
> [tumblr](http://synchronysymphony.tumblr.com)


End file.
